Bereft
by darklydraco
Summary: Burdened by grief and guilt, Remus Lupin returns to Spinner's End after the War to find a bereft Draco Malfoy sleeping in Severus' empty bed. A soft, slow romance about love and loss.
1. The Empty Spaces You Left Behind

**Bereft**

**by: darklydraco***

**Summary: **Burdened by grief and guilt, Remus Lupin returns to Spinner's End after the War to find a bereft Draco Malfoy sleeping in Severus' empty bed. A soft, slow romance about love and loss.

**Pairing:** RL/DM

**Warnings:** sadness and sex

***Disclaimer:** The potter-verse belongs to JKR, all hail.

**

* * *

**

**Part One: **

**The Empty Spaces You Left Behind**

The house looked exactly the same. Still old, and worn. The shutters dark and drawn. The lawn unkempt, the vines growing up the side wilting even in the summer rain, the walls a sallow off-white, the front door protruding unwelcomingly. Unapproachable. Uninviting. In every way a reflection of its owner.

Previous owner, he corrected himself.

For some reason, he had almost expected the house to show some sort of sign… some indication of loss.

But then, Remus looked exactly the same, too. A little shabbier, a little older. The house and he… they belonged to each other now, he figured. All that was left.

The wards on the gate prickled, but they let him through. The wards on the door stung, but the knob gave way, and opened obligingly to him. How like its previous owner. Bristly and hard to get close to.

He stood staring into the dark little house for several long minutes before he could bring himself to set a foot over the threshold. He held his breath and tried to still the beating in his chest before he finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Everything was as he had left it. Bookshelves lined the walls, leaving space only for the windows and floo. Two worn leather chairs, with an occasional table between them, sat facing the fireplace, now cold and dark.

A flood of memories assaulted him as he remembered nights spent sitting here, reading in front of the fire. In his memories, the house seems larger, warmer, more alive. Now, standing here in the cold daylight, everything seems so much… smaller… almost unreal, like a diorama of a life, not the real thing.

Off to the right, the kitchen with the little breakfast table, and the windows that overlook the garden and the greenhouse. He could almost smell the tea and biscuits that ought to be out, now, going on four o'clock in the afternoon.

Severus insisted on regular tea. Even in the middle of a war. _You needn't have dressed up for me,_ he would sneer. Remus could almost hear it. This time of year, he would drink Rosehip tea and refuse to talk about his mother.

Remus crossed toward the bookshelf that hid the stairs, practiced fingers sliding effortlessly into the hidden groove to pull the lever that releases it.

He climbed slowly, allowing himself the respite of this monotonous task, because it distracted him from what he would inevitably find up there: emptiness.

A diorama of a life, of a home.

He paused outside the door to the lab, decided to forgo it. The lab and it's contents were not his, afterall.

His was the bed. How cruel, to leave him an empty house. An empty bed.

I deserve no better; I don't even deserve this, he told himself.

He stepped toward the bedroom door and took a deep breath, trying to fight down the clenching in his chest that was rising, slowly but surely, into his throat.

The door opened at his touch to reveal the threadbare rug on worn, sagging wooden floors, the aged dresser and writing desk, and in the middle of the room, against the wall to the left, the large four-poster bed…

Remus heart stopped.

For one terrifyingly blissful moment, he thought… _Severus?_

But no… Severus is dead. And the person lying there in his place is smaller. He stepped forward, wand drawn, but the intruder didn't move.

Then he saw the shock of white-blond hair, splayed across Severus' pillow, and thought: o_h_.

He turned around and walked back to the door, to leave the boy to his grief, when he heard a faint, "Severus?"

His chest clenched to hear his own foolishly hopeful sentiment echoed, and he turned around to see the boy groggily sitting up, peering at him. His eyes were red, and his face drawn and ashen, Remus noted.

"Professor Lupin?" he asked, frowning.

"Hello, Draco," he answered. "I'm…" he grasped for the words… 'grieving,' 'lost,' or maybe 'empty'… he settled for, "I'm just making tea. Would you like some?"

The boy looked thoroughly bewildered but nodded, and slipped out of bed to follow him, barefoot, back down into the kitchen.

Draco sat down at the table and Remus moved to retrieve the blackened pot and a tray, and try to find some biscuits. Remus set the water to boil, and rummaged through cabinet. Rosehip, he thought. Severus would have liked that.

"How did you get in?" the boy finally asked, as though he'd been resisting the urge.

"The house… Severus left the house to me," Remus answered quietly, turning around.

"Oh," Draco nodded stiffly. He chewed his lip and looked like he was considering asking something more, but didn't.

And then it occurred to Remus to ask, "how did you get in? The Ministry said no one could get through his wards…"

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, looking vaguely uneasy. "I mean, I just walked in, too. The house remembered me, I guess." Remus remained quiet. Draco shifted uneasily. "I suppose I should leave, though, now…" the boy said, his voice so full of resignation that Remus almost surprised to see blond hair instead of black when he looked up.

"No," he said, trying to put something like warmth into it, "stay. Besides," he added, suddenly remembering, "some of this is yours," he said, and watched the boy in front of him perk up a little, his eyes almost, but not quite, sparkling.

Remus nodded and reached into his robe pockets, wincing with the effort of the strain. It was only the second day after his transformation, and he was still so, so sore. Draco's expression was a familiar mix of suspicion and curiosity as Remus withdrew the heavy parchment roll. He unfurled it and handed it to Draco, who stared at the curling script for a few moments, then looked up frowning.

"His lab," Remus said quietly. "He left you his lab here, and all his papers and stores from Hogwarts. Everything to do with his career as a Potions Master, is yours."

Draco's hands seemed to tremble slightly as he held the parchment in front of him, but his eyes unfocused. Remus turned around to give him some kind of privacy. He heard the boy take a shaky breath, and then cough to cover it.

"I have nowhere to keep it all," Draco said suddenly, and Remus turned around to look at him again. He was still staring at the parchment, his face an inscrutable mask. But Remus heard the unspoken confession: 'I have no where to go.'

"You can stay here until you get back on your feet," he offered, trying to leech out every ounce of compassion, lest he mistake it for pity, and refuse. "The house doesn't seem to mind, anyway. And neither do I."

Draco nodded but didn't look up, and Remus sat down with the tea service, and poured for each of them.

He watched as Draco reached out to take his cup, long white fingers wrapping around the chipped porcelain vessel. He lifted it up to his aristocratic nose and breathed in. His eyelids almost fluttered, and the hint of something tugged at the corners of his lips. "Rosehip," he whispered, his eyes immediately seeking out Remus', searching his face. Remus nodded, unable to find words in all the pain. Draco's voice broke as he said, "he would have liked that."

Something clenched in Remus' chest, then, and he felt his eyes stinging, but before he could even try to hide it with his sleeve, he heard Draco sniff loudly and excuse himself, before he bolted out of the room. A strangled sob floated down from the hidden staircase, and Remus didn't try to hide the tears.

How…?

How could he be gone…?

It was dark outside when Remus finally climbed the stairs and peered in through the bedroom door. Draco was curled under the blankets in Severus' bed, facing the doorway, his brow furrowed. He was shaking his head and whimpering something unintelligible.

Remus walked up to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Draco," he said softly. The boy opened his eyes groggily, and sat up half-way, before he recognized him.

"Oh," he said quietly. And then, "sorry."

And then, instead of lying back down, he threw back the covers on his side and rolled over to sleep on the other side of the bed.

Remus faltered… stood there frozen for much too long, until he thought he heard Draco's breathing evening out.

And then…

And then he climbed into the familiar bed and lay down beside Draco, instinctively curling up into the warm space his body had left behind. He pressed his cheek into the pillow, and inhaled deeply.

"It smells like him," he murmured.

He was only a little surprised to hear a quiet reply, "I know."

* * *

More to come soon...


	2. Echoes of You Everywhere

Responses to your comments are at the bottom :)

**Part Two:**

**Echoes of You Everywhere**

Draco woke up aware that for the first time in a long time, he was not alone. The bed behind him sagged a little, and he heard the soft sound of someone breathing. He closed his eyes, inhaled the soft smell of lavender and stale tea on his pillowcase, and allowed himself to pretend, just for a moment, that Severus was here with him.

His nose stung and his eyes began to water, and he decided rather stoically that it was entirely too early in the morning to be crying again.

He slipped out of the bed and wandered to the old wardrobe, pulling out one of Severus' starched white dress shirts and a pair of overlong trousers. He slipped them on, cold fingers fumbling with the buttons, and then spelled the trousers to fit him. He found an old black robe, the dye faded to a brownish grey at the hem. He pulled it on, the soft fabric brushing against his skin, smelling like mothballs and spilled ink and just a hint of lavender. He wrapped it around himself and inhaled deeply. It was one of those high-necked ones with a million repressive little buttons that Severus so favoured. Draco had seen him spell them closed, but he had never learned the charm, so he left them hanging open and padded across the floor to the door.

Before leaving the room, though, he paused and turned to look at the man lying in Severus' bed. Lupin's face was drawn in a frown, and he looked tired, and old. Why had he come, Draco wondered. He'd left. Married. Why did he come back?

He stared at the man, taking the first good look he'd had since... well since sometime in sixth year. His shabby clothes from yesterday had been replaced by a shabby blue and white nightshirt. His sandy hair was streaked with grey and he slept curled into himself, one leg jutting out behind him. The high arch of a long, white foot hung over the edge of the bed, the big toe gnarled, and Draco's breath caught at the familiar sight. Severus had had long, white feet just like that, with elegant high arches… he even had similarly gnarled toenails, discoloured with age. And Lupin's frown… he slept in a frown that seemed to deepen the lines in his face, etch them more permanently into his brow, like he never rested, even at rest. Just like Severus.

Truthfully, married or not, Lupin looked much less out of place here than Draco did. He seemed to have been expected. Like the house, the room, the bed, had been waiting for him to come. Which made Draco feel all the more like he ought to leave.

But there was no place for him to go.

He sighed and left the room as quietly as possible, stepping lightly on the stairs, jumping the third step from the bottom which always creaks and gives you away if you try to hide behind the hidden door and listen.

There would be little to eavesdrop on, now.

He slipped through the hidden door and into the sitting room, lighting a fire with a flick of his wand. The morning light shone pale through the dusty window-panes, lighting diagonal columns across the books that lined the walls. Draco swallowed and tried not to think about the afternoons he'd spent here as a child, building forts out of the old tomes and being chastised for it.

He ran his finger over the spines on the shelf nearest the front door until he found a soft packet of cigarettes, and smiled. That made the third half-empty pack he'd found since he got there. He pulled one long, slender column out and stuck it to his bottom lip, then slipped the pack into the pocket of his robes and strolled out through the kitchen door and onto the little patio.

The sun was up but out of sight behind layers of oppressively low-hanging clouds. He cupped the end of the cigarette as he lit a little flame on the end of his wand and held it up. He sucked in, filling his mouth with hot smokey air, and then inhaled it into his lungs, relishing the burn in the back of throat and the pleasant ache in his chest. He pocketed his wand and took another long drag, then pulled the cigarette out and held it between two slender white fingers, flicking the filter with his thumb, and staring out into the garden.

He stood there, smoking and staring, until the breeze under the clouds became too chilly, and he flicked the cigarette into the air with his thumb and middle finger, then incinerated it with a flick of his wand before it hit the ground.

He padded back into the kitchen and started breakfast mechanically. Water in the pot to boil. An empty cup and a teabag set aside, waiting. A pat of butter and two cracked eggs in the pan. A piece of toast on a plate, waiting.

He flipped the sizzling eggs and one of the yolks broke, of course, because he always flipped them too soon. _Patience, boy!_ Severus would have said. He could almost hear him, now. He sighed and decided he should probably get out of this house, if only to get away from the constant stream of memories that threatened to drown him.

But there was nowhere else for him to go, now. His father was in custody, his mother in St. Mungo's for her 'nerves,' thanks to Potter's preliminary testimony. And Draco was out on orders to stay in the country, awaiting his hearing. The Manor was being held by the Ministry indefinitely, and the likelihood that Draco would ever see a knut of his Malfoy inheritance was slim.

He didn't want the blood-money anyway. And if never set foot in that house again, it would be too soon.

Everything was over, finally over… Draco had imagined it so many times. Potter would win, or lose, or whatever, but in the end, it would all be over, and he and Severus would finally be together.

Only Severus wasn't here…

Everything was over and Severus wasn't here.

Draco balled his hands into fists and stared at the frying pan, his jaw clenched, willing the rage to pass. It was unfair. Completely unfair. How could Severus have left him? How could he have left Draco alone here? How dare he die?

He gulped down deep breaths and leaned against the counter to steady himself. It was much too early in the morning for this.

Instead he put out the fire under the pan and shovelled the eggs onto the plate next to the toast, poured the hot water over the teabag in the empty cup. He added milk and sugar, then settled himself at the kitchen table to eat.

It was mostly a reflexive thing… eating. Everything tasted like rubber, really, and it wasn't the cigarettes. He just… didn't care.

He wasn't really hungry, but he was never really full, either. So he just ate out of habit, really. For something to do with his hands, to distract himself from the waves of anger and despair that washed over him again and again.

* * *

Remus woke up cold. The boy must have gotten up already, because he couldn't hear his breathing anymore. He couldn't smell him anymore, either. Only the gentle smell of tea and lavender and parchment, and something salty, like tears, on both of the pillows.

He inhaled again, sitting up, and smelled something else. Eggs? And toast? His stomach rumbled and he stood, stretching through the ache in his muscles and bones. He was always too cold.

On a hopeless impulse, he moved to the battered old dresser against the wall and pulled open the middle drawer…

And choked.

His clothes. A patched up pair of trousers, two old shirts, some shorts, and a rolled up pair of woolen socks… they were still here, in a neatly folded stack next to the rest of Severus socks and nightclothes.

Severus… Severus had kept his drawer for him… even after…

Something tightened painfully in his chest and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to stay the tears that pricked the edges of his eyes already. How… how can this be…?

He slipped out of his nightshirt, folding it and placing it dutifully into his drawer, then slipped into the clothes he'd left here more than a year ago. He forced himself to focus on the monotony of the task and forget the circumstances, forget the bitter reality. He tried not to think about what Severus' must have thought, why he had kept them here.

Had he sometimes opened the drawer, and run his hands over the soft worn cotton of his shirt? Had he wondered whether, maybe, Remus would come back to him… that they would be together again, when the war was over… when Remus realised how wrong he had been not to trust Severus… and would he ever have forgiven him?

It was too much. He swallowed thickly, closed the drawer, and turned to go down the stairs.

He stood in the kitchen doorway and blinked. They boy was wearing Severus' clothes. The severe collar and billowing tails were unmistakeable, but he must have spelled them to fit his slighter frame.

They suited him, though, Remus decided. In fact, Draco might be the only other person he could think of that could pull off those robes. It took presence, and poise, something Remus had never managed to convey. Draco, though... he did them justice.

They boy looked up and gave a curt little nod as he stepped through the kitchen door.

Remus poured some hot water from the pot on the stove into a cup, dropped in an teabag, and fixed himself some toast with jam. He sat down at the table opposite Draco, who was reading the Prophet, sipping from a cup of tea that sat glowing under a warming charm. Remus bit into the toast and tried to be glad he was eating. His appetite came and went, but he was still reeling from his transformation and really ought to be eating more.

They sat in silence, Remus eating and Draco reading, for several minutes.

"I'm sorry about your wife," Draco said suddenly from behind his newspaper. A pang of guilt caught Remus by surprise. His wife. Probably he should be mourning her loss more than he was right now. She'd flitted into his life so briefly, filled his world with colour and energy, and then like a bright flame, burned out.

"She was your cousin," Remus said.

Draco nodded from behind the paper, adding, "I saw her that night, before. She was running somewhere."

"Were you in the Great Hall? Did you see…?"

"Yes," he answered quietly.

"Did you know…?" Remus asked slowly, carefully.

Draco folded the paper out of the way and looked right at him, silver eyes piercing his. "That Severus was loyal to Potter all along?"

Remus nodded, and held his breath.

"I suspected for a long time," Draco answered, folding his hands over the discarded paper. "I could never ask, though."

Remus understood why, of course… he understood all too well the life of a spy, never knowing whom you can trust, even the people you love.

Presently, Draco went on. "I didn't know for sure until Potter and the others showed up at the Manor. They had the Sword. I knew Severus must have given it to them."

"Harry said you saved his life that day," Remus said quietly.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I didn't know what would happen, and by then I almost didn't care anymore. But… I trusted Severus."

For too many reasons, that sentiment stung Remus deeply. He was unsurprised to hear his own voice faltering when he whispered, "I should have trusted him more."

"Yes," Draco agreed, and drank from his tea. Remus almost laughed at his bluntness. It was refreshingly familiar in this strange new world without Severus. Severus, the unapologetic deliverer of harsh truths.

Draco stood up from the table and walked to the glass door that overlooked the garden, and stepped outside. Remus watched him pull out a wrinkled packet of cigarettes from his pocket, holding it up and tipping it to catch one between pink lips, and then bending and cupping it against the wind to light it with the tip of his wand.

He watched the deep inhale, the pause, and the slow billowing exhale, the casual flick of a thin, manicured thumb against the filter. He sat there watching, remembering, trying to forget.

Severus always smoked after sex. And torture.

Which led Remus to wonder why, exactly, the boy was here. He had no home, sure. But was that the only reason he had come back? Had he and Severus… had they…? Remus had assumed so, but he couldn't be sure. Surpisingly, the thought did not evoke anything like jealousy, or bitterness. Instead he felt a warm but aching sympathy.

And guilt, always guilt. Because Draco had trusted Severus, in his own way, when no one else did. Not even Remus, and he should have, of all of them. Remus should have… but he had failed. He watched the boy, his thin frame standing stoically straight in the drizzling rain.

* * *

Draco took another long drag from his cigarette. The low-hanging clouds were dusting him with rain, now. A fine, thin layer of tiny beads now coated his robes and pearled along his eyelashes. He tucked the cigarette under the palm of his hand to shield it from the water.

"Those things are going to kill you," he heard Lupin say from behind and the glass door opened and closed again.

Draco shrugged.

Lupin stepped up next to him and looked at him sideways. Draco kept his eyes steadfastly focused on the rosebushes against the back wall and tried to ignore the feeling of being sized up. It made him shiver, although that could just as easily be the rain. He pulled the robe closer around himself, and considered trying to do up all the little buttons by hand, but decided against it. Too much effort.

"Here," Lupin said suddenly, stepping in front of him and pointing the tip of his wand at Draco's throat. Draco raised an eyebrow and stuck out his chin at the possibility of a threat, because frankly he didn't care what Lupin, or anyone, did to him now.

But Lupin merely whispered, "_clausio._"

Draco felt his robes smoothing themselves out and then the topmost button of the collar seemed to close around his throat. The buttons started slipping into their holes one by one under Lupin's wand as he guided it slowly down Draco's throat.

For some reason, Draco felt his cheeks growing warm as he watched the wand tip slide slowly down over his chest, the buttons slowly closing themselves. Something warm and thrilling ran through him when he saw that Lupin's face looked a little flushed, too.

Lupin looked up and their eyes met just as the tip of his wand brushed over catch of Draco's trousers. Draco's breath hitched, and Lupin's eyes widened fractionally before he quickly looked away, withdrawing his wand and stepping back to stand beside him.

Draco thought he should probably say thank you, or something, but he found his mouth was suddenly rather dry. Instead he took the last drag off of his cigarette, flicked it into the air with his thumb and middle finger, and watched it bursting into flame, the ash floating delicately down to the ground below.

He turned around, and went back into the empty house.

* * *

**Responses to your comments:**

Blue-Eyed China: Thank you! I promise it won't stay sad forever.

piglett: Thank you! I'm quite fond of the pairing, too, it makes complete sense to me, though it's not that common.

ariablue: Thank you!

SoulSearcher95: how's that for soon? :)


	3. Things I Never Told You

**Part Three:**

**Things I Never Told You**

Draco left the patio and went straight to the Severus' second story potions study… his study, now. The doorknob tingled against his palm but it granted him entry. The walls were panelled wood and the floor was covered in the threadbare carpet. Thick fabric covered the windows, and a thin layer dust covered the large desk and the bookshelves, filing cabinets, and supply shelves that lined the walls. A flick of his wand set the floo on the far end of the room alight, flickering across the glass bottles and jars of supplies.

He moved to the curtains and pulled them open, allowing the morning light to shine through, throwing beams of sparkling dust across the dark room. He wandered to the wall of filing cabinets and pulled out drawer at random… W… and removed the files filled with parchment. Severus' handwriting scrawled across most of them. Sometimes sharp and precise, other times broad and agitated, but always elegant.

He clutched the files to his chest and smelled the lavender and tea and spilled potions ingredients as he carried them to an armchair by the fire. He conjured a cushion for his feet and started to read.

* * *

Despite living in a relatively small space and at least nominally sharing a bed, they saw fairly little of each other in the next few days. Remus spent most of the day reading in the sitting room in front of the fireplace and trying to distract himself. Draco disappeared into the study across hall from the bedroom that first morning after breakfast and didn't come out until dinner. Remus had been pleased to discover the cold-cabinet reasonably well-stocked, probably Draco's doing, and was able to throw together a simple stir-fry. They ate quietly, spent the evening apart: Draco in the lab, Remus in the living room reading.

They fell into a comfortable routine. Draco made breakfast and tea in the morning, Remus made supper in the evening. At some point every few days or so, the fridge would fill up with food; Remus suspected Malfoy house elves were to thank, since Draco never seemed to leave and anyway it was hard to imagine him going out to a muggle grocery mart. Or any grocery mart, for that matter. Draco smoked like clockwork, standing on the patio before and after meals and right before bed, but otherwise seemed to want to be left alone, which was fine for Remus.

The days passed languidly. After the showers on that first day together, a heat wave rolled through, and oppressively warm cloud-cover made the air thick and sticky. They moved slowly, without haste, passing each other incidentally, speaking rarely.

At night he or Draco would slip into the bed first and fall asleep… or pretend to… and the other one would follow. Remus slept on Severus' side, as he had on that first night. And Draco slept on what had once been Remus' side, though perhaps it had been Draco's side, too. They never went to bed at the same time, though, which might have been odd for any other two people sharing a bed. But they weren't really sharing the bed, or the house. Or… well maybe that's exactly what they were doing: sharing… as in, dividing into two shares. They lived parallel lives, quietly coping with parallel grief. Sleeping side-by-side, couched in the strange, divided intimacy of isolation and loss.

It wasn't until the fifth day, late in the evening, that Remus came out of the kitchen after dinner to find Draco sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, a bottle of cognac on the occasional table between them, sipping from a snifter. An empty glass stood beside the bottle. Draco looked up, and Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Found it in the basement," he remarked by way of invitation. Remus slid into the chair beside him and Draco poured him a glass.

They sat, and drank, and stared at the fire.

Eventually, Remus confessed, "I miss him."

"Me too," Draco nodded.

They stared into the fire side-by-side until Draco stood to go upstairs. Remus waited another few minutes before following him up.

They took to drinking by the fire in the evenings, then. Draco brought out bottles from the basement as his mood possessed him. Remus, who had never known or cared much for liquor, took the boy's word for it when he commented on the superb "nose" of whatever they were drinking.

* * *

Lupin seemed content to leave him alone, which suited Draco just fine. He sat in the sitting room and read most of the time. He was like a quieter, less acrimonious Severus, actually. And he cooked, which was nice. They didn't talk much, but they drank a lot, which was something, he supposed.

Early in the mornings Draco still allowed himself to believe it was Severus lying beside him. But ever since that first morning, he'd been able to shake the memory of Lupin's wand tip snagging the edge of his trousers, and of Lupin's cheeks, flushed.

More and more he found details in Lupin's brow, in the wrinkles of his eyes, the length of his fingers, the curve of his spine, that reminded him of Severus. Pieces of him here, and there. The curve of a wry smile. The slide of a too-tall knee along the bottom of the kitchen table, and the effortless dip of his elbows. He took to showering more often, thoughts and images of Severus, of Severus with Lupin, and finally of Lupin, swirling through his mind. He saw Severus pounding into him and then suddenly it was Draco pounding, crashing into him, digging into the white flesh along his hips bones... he stroked himself until he came, or cried, or both. Afterwards it was even harder to do more than sit and drink next to him, and so he continued to hide in his lab, reading and brewing.

Potter showed up a fortnight after Lupin had moved in. He stood outside the garden gate in muggle clothes with a box the size of a wine crate levitating beside him, though Draco couldn't see a wand from where he watched through the second-story window. Draco was pleased to note that even though the wards let Potter in, he still winced as he passed through each barrier. Thank you, Severus.

"Potter," he said, strolling out from behind the hidden door and standing proprietarily beside the sitting room floo.

"Malfoy," Potter nodded, meeting his gaze but quickly dropping it. He waved his hand at the floating box and with a finger, guided it into the room and over to the kitchen table. Draco tried, but probably failed, to hide his surprise. A vague smile played on Lupin's lips as he watched Potter's display of power, which led Draco to believe this must not be news to him, at least.

Draco followed them into the kitchen when Lupin seemed to hover, waiting, but he declined to sit, choosing instead to lean against the counter with cross arms and pretend not to be curious about this new, Powerful Potter and whatever was inside his toy box.

Potter reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew two glass vials with swirling silver liquid – or was it gas? – inside and slid one over to Lupin before placing the other in front of the chair Draco had refused to sit in.

"These are from Snape – _Professor_ Snape. Before he," Potter swallowed, "before he died, he gave me his memories so I would know how to kill Voldemort." He sighed. "Anyway, these are… well we don't need them for the trials or anything, and I thought… well I thought you should have them," he finished, eyes on his hands that were clasped in front of him on the table. How this short, awkward, self-effacing kid managed to kill the most evil sorcerer in history continued to astound Draco beyond words.

"Why?" Draco asked, his voice laden with suspicion and distrust, and he knew it.

Potter's face darkened instantly. "Because Snape would have wanted me to, Malfoy, and for no other reason."

"How would you know what he wanted? You never knew, or cared…" Draco clenched his fists and tried to contain the familiar rage and indignation that Potter always managed to provoke in him.

Potter was trying to do the same, "I know, ok! I've seen it, and I know," he said exasperatedly. "The man only ever loved three people in his life: my mother, Remus, and for some insane reason_, you_."

Draco huffed and crossed his arms again to restrain all the other reactions, like shame, and pride, and overwhelming bitterness from showing on his features.

Potter sighed and then flicked a lazy finger at the box, which unfolded and collapsed into itself with a puff of purple smoke, to reveal a familiar large stone basin edges with ancient Runic. Draco's had seen it in Severus' office when he was Headmaster... but those moments did not bear thinking of right now, with Potter here.

"I've had it for a month, I figure it's your turn," Potter said looking at Lupin now, as though Draco wasn't in the room anymore. Potter stood to leave, but Lupin convinced him to stay for dinner. Draco left without a word and didn't return until after Potter was gone, of course. He left the vial on the table, too. He couldn't deal with that right now. Maybe not ever. What kinds of memories had Severus handed over? Surely not…

His face flushed as he sat in front of the fire in the upstairs study. There was no way he could ever, ever face Potter again in his life if he had seen…

And Lupin… well Lupin probably already suspected. Why else would he be here, sleeping in Severus' bed if not for the same reason that Lupin was?

* * *

Harry stayed for an early supper but declined drinks. They swapped stories about the war, updates on survivors, made promises to meet more often. Harry managed to extract a promise that Remus would attend Ron and Hermione's wedding.

"Is he ok?" Harry asked, gazing over at the hidden door to the stairs.

"I don't know," Remus answered honestly.

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you ok?" he asked.

Remus thought about it, and considered the usual 'fine,' but in the end admitted, "No, not really."

"I'm sorry… about both of them." For a moment Remus thought: Severus and Draco? But no, he must have meant Severus and Dora.

"Thank you," he said into his tea. Harry waved a hand and the dished floated into the sink and started washing themselves. Remus tried to hide the mild amazement at Harry new abilities, but Harry blushed all the same.

When he had gone, Remus sat downstairs and opened the bottle of cognac that had appeared there along with two glasses. Draco passed him on the way to the patio, and came back smelling like smoke and the heat of summer evenings. He sat without speaking, poured himself a drink, and tossed it back before refilling his glass.

Yeah, Remus felt about the same. He poured himself another drink.

The memories seemed be floating all around them that night as they sat drinking in front of the fireplace.

"So, Potter's mother?" Draco finally said, a tone of wry amusement in his voice.

"Yes," Remus nodded. "Since they were kids. She grew up here. Just down the street, actually."

"No wonder Severus hated him," he snorted.

Remus chuckled into his drink.

"A muggle-born, a werewolf, and his own godson…" Draco mused.

"Eclectic tastes, I suppose."

"Or he liked to have the upper hand," Draco remarked slyly.

"Probably a little of both," Remus reflected.

They stared into the flames for several long minutes, and Remus allowed the warmth of the alcohol to distract him from the prospect of actually uncorking that vial and looking at it. He reached into his robe pocket and removed the two vials, each with a label in Harry's messy scrawl, 'Remus' on one and 'Malfoy' on the other.

He held Draco's vial out and Draco took it, asking, "have you…?" as he tucked the memories into Severus' black robes. Remus shook his head.

"Not yet. Maybe tomorrow." Draco nodded and returned to staring at the flames.

"I never slept with him," the boy suddenly announced. Remus found the revelation surprising, actually, but didn't say anything.

"Not that I didn't try…" Draco added, as if he wanted to make that very clear. "He gave in few times, but he wouldn't sleep with me…" he said, sounding somehow both wistful and bitter. "He promised that when I was out of school and the war was finally over…" his voiced wavered and he stopped himself, jaw clenched tightly, staring into the fire. Remus felt the pain expanding in his own chest again, threatening to overcome him again. Severus… _gone_…

Presently, Draco went on. "The first time I kissed him, he gave me detention…. with Filch," Draco remarked. Remus laughed a little at the thought.

"The first time I kissed him, he kicked me in the bollocks," Remus countered, and Draco choked on his drink. "Honestly," he nodded, laughing a little, too.

"When?"

Remus cast his mind back, back through the years, and closed his eyes. "Sixth year. James and Sirius had been especially cruel, more than usual. I went to find him… he was in the bathroom on the sixth floor…" he stopped himself but Draco merely nodded, obviously wanting bypass his own memories that lay embedded in the tiles of that room.

"Well he tried to hex me but I disarmed him. I just wanted to talk. To apologize… I don't know… but instead…"

"You kissed him," Draco finished, like it was perfectly understandable. Remus chuckled.

"Yes," Remus nodded, blushing slightly at the memory, "and he kissed me back,"

Draco sat up and leaned a little closer, a smirk curving the side of his lips.

Remus inhaled, feeling the distant memory of youthful arousal tingling through him… "he kissed me… he actually reached out and pulled me in, right up against him, and," he inhaled again, the warmth of growing arousal spreading through him and he found he was unable to stop it, "gods the moment I was pressed up against him like that, everything made sense, and I just wanted… I don't know… I wanted…"

"Everything…" Draco supplied, his eyes bright with something that made Remus cock twitch, and he nodded.

"But then I whispered his name, and he pulled away, like he'd just remembered who I was… and then he kicked me."

"Typical," Draco judged. Remus chuckled at that, too, feeling slightly breathless. "What was it like? You know… with him…?" Draco finally asked. Remus swallowed and tried hard not think too much about it.

"It was… good," he finally answered. Draco nodded as though he had expected no less.

"What was _he_ like?" he asked, his eyes suddenly alight with curiosity, and maybe something like the arousal Remus was feeling, but Remus wasn't sure.

What was he like? Remus tried to hold back the ache of loss long enough to really think about it… because the boy deserved that much, he thought.

"He was… harsh… demanding… possessive…" he chuckled. Remus hoped he was somehow doing the man justice. Probably no one ever had, or could.

Draco silver eyes sparkled in the firelight. "He tasted like cognac the first time he let me suck him off," he observed matter-of-factly. Remus choked into his glass, face growing warm at the thought. Draco turned devious, heavy-lidded eyes at him and Remus suddenly realized they'd had entirely too much to drink after everything that had happened today. The memories were so close to the surface now, he felt like just the barest snag of a nail would tear a hole and everything would bleed out of him.

He stood to leave. Draco stood to follow him, reached out, grasped his wrist.

"Draco," Remus whispered, a question and a warning.

The boy let go of his arm, and sank back into the chair. Remus trudged upstairs and into the shower. He stood under the hot water, allowed it to beat down on his shoulders trying to shake the arousal that was nagging him, now, alcohol-blurred images of Severus, of Severus with Draco… and of Draco… whirling through his mind. He clenched his fists and turned the shower on cold, but there was nothing for it. He shut the water off and leaned one hand again the cold tile wall while he tossed off to the image of Draco, school robes and all, kneeling to swallow Remus' cock. He came with a silent grunt and shut the water on again to rinse off the come, and if possible, the shame, before going to bed.


	4. Everything That Came Between Us

**Part Four:**

**Everything That Came Between Us**

Of all the memories he might have fallen into, this is not one he wanted to see. He wouldn't have put it past Severus to ensure, somehow, that this came first. And part of him – the part that recognized the memory instantly and still decided to bend over into it – felt that he deserved to be here. And so here he was, running frantically up the dungeon stairs, following the billowing black robes ahead of him.

There was shouting coming from around the corner, and Remus followed Severus as he skidded to a stop, blocked a stray hex, and joined the fray. Even in Severus' memory, things seem to be moving at once way too fast, and in slow motion.

And then, as he knew he would, Remus saw himself: he looked much younger (how had he aged so much in just one year?), his tattered clothes and greying hair appearing somehow to glow. Remus choked at the strangeness of seeing himself as someone else (and not just someone, but _Severus_), had seen him.

He winced alongside Severus as they watched a nasty-looking curse nearly take that other Remus' head off. And then Severus, somehow, threw up a shield, sidled around the outside of the hall, and snatched Remus by the scruff of his robes and dragged him into a classroom off of the main hall. Remus rushed to keep up. He remembered this part.

"Severus, what are you-?" he heard his own breathless whisper.

"Shut up, Lupin." Severus growled, and kissed him violently, desperately.

Remus felt something hard and unforgiving lodged in his throat as he stood there, a strange outsider, watching them kiss.

He watched himself threading calloused fingers through Severus' thick hair, watching Severus' hands grip the front of his robes.

They came up for air, gasping, foreheads pressed together.

And then the whispered words… "I'm sorry."

He watched as Severus wrenched himself away, and ran out down the hall.

Everything went black, and Remus opened his eyes to find himself sitting at the kitchen table, afternoon light streaming in through the windows. He allowed his face to fall into his hands, allowed the bitterness of regret to wash over him. He deserved it. He deserved every ounce of guilt, regret, remorse. All of it.

"I'm sorry," he echoed into the empty room. But it was too late.

"Rough conscience?" a groggy-sounding voice from the doorway pulled Remus out of his puddle of self-indulgent pity. He looked up at the scowling, dishevelled-looking boy leaning against the doorjamb.

"Rough night?" he asked, and Draco shrugged, moving past him to the cabinet still stocked with potions, and pulling out what was probably a hangover cure.

Then he sat down across from Remus at the table with a cup of tea and a cold piece of bacon from yesterday.

"That bad?"

Remus declined to answer.

"I supposed I should have a go…" Draco ventured. Remus shrugged, and stood to leave.

Draco made a move like he wanted to reach out and touch Remus, but his hand faltered, and Remus left the room.

* * *

After the look on Lupin's face Draco wasn't actually sure he wanted to see the memories Severus had left him. Or more to the point – he was suddenly more interested in seeing his memories of Lupin.

Which Lupin had conveniently left in the basin at the table.

With no more forethought than that, he tipped his nose into the gaseous liquid and fell into… his own house.

He shuddered as he took in the long, thick drapes covering all the windows of the hallway where he stood. It was dark in here. And cold.

Boots echoed behind him and he turned around and jumped to see Severus standing there behind him, listening to the approaching footsteps. Someone opened the door at the far end of the hall and a vaguely familiar voice announced, "they're back."

Severus nodded and strode after him, and Draco scurried to keep up. Down another hall, past the ballroom, and off into the West Wing they went. Draco kept looking for signs of time, but there were none. Still, the darkness, and the smell, gave away the year: it must have been sometime in the last year, after the Dark Lord had taken up residence in the Manor.

He wondered idly where he was at that moment. Probably still at school, he reflected, although he had no way of knowing the time of year.

Severus stepped into the long, dark chamber in which the Dark Lord used to hold court. And there, chained on the floor in the middle a large crowd of jeering Death Eaters were the naked bodies of three men…

Draco's stomach lurched to recognize that one of them was Remus Lupin.

Suddenly, everything dissolved around him and he was back at Severus' house, sitting at the kitchen table.

"What did you see?" a voice asked from the doorway. Draco looked up, guilt probably written across his face, but Lupin just looked bored.

"My house. You were brought to my house." Lupin stiffened a little, but then relaxed and rubbed his hand over his face wearily.

* * *

Remus recovered his memories, then, and stoppered them. He should have expected the boy to look, Slytherin that he is. And could he blame him?

They didn't talk again until that night, in front of the fire, drinking.

Suddenly, Draco asked, "So, who topped?"

Remus sputtered in his drink, but recovered gracefully enough. "I did, mostly. It depended."

Draco frowned a little at that.

"I know," Remus remarked, and the boy seemed to understand what he was saying, because he answered,

"I guess he just seemed more like a top."

"He probably was, with others."

Draco frowned again.

"In school. And later. I don't know. Plus he did sleep with women, you know."

Draco nodded. "Mother," he said quietly. Remus decided not to remark on that. He'd have thought Lucius more likely, but who knew?

"And you?" Remus asked, a little daringly. Some small voice reminded him he probably should not be asking questions like this, but the boy was here, all the time, and if Draco could satisfy his curiosity, so could he.

Draco flushed but answered, "we never… but I wouldn't have cared. I suppose I wanted him to take me, though. And he didn't seem averse. At least not when I proposed it, which was every chance I got – I'm sure I drove the man insane…"

"I can't imagine" Remus mumbled into his drink.

Draco apparently didn't miss it, though, because he seemed to sit up a little straighter. "He liked it best when I begged to be bent over the headmaster's desk and punished for my insufferable insolence."

"Spanked first, though?"

"Naturally."

"Can't imagine how he survived."

A pause.

"He didn't," Draco said quietly, and the pang of it was almost too much for Remus.

Remus wanted to apologize. Draco apparently felt the same way, because he just made a quiet, choking noise, drank what was left of his cognac, and stumbled up the stairs to bed without looking back.

* * *

Lupin came to bed nearly an hour later. Draco pretended to be sleeping, but the flush of alcohol kept his mind swirling. Finally, he heard Lupin's soft footsteps on the carpet, and felt the shifting weight of the bed as he slipped between the sheets beside him. Lupin lay on his side, facing away, but his breathing remained unsteady.

Draco moved closer, reached out.

Lupin stilled when Draco's hand touched his shoulder. And then he sighed, as though unsurprised. Draco wasn't sure which was worse.

He moved closer, until he was flush against the man, and heard the gasp as his hard cock pressed against Lupin's lower back.

"Please…" Draco whispered into the soft hairs behind Lupin's ear, as his hand trailed down the front of Lupin's nightshirt. He wasn't even sure what he wanted… was he seeking out the remnants of Severus on this man? Wanting to be close to someone Severus was close to? Or did he want Lupin?

He breathed in the smell of Severus' sheets, and Severus' tea on Lupin's clothes. He lapped up the salty sweetness of Lupin's skin and compared it, transmuted it, to Severus, somehow.

"Touch me like you touched him," he suggested, and heard the rumbling growl from low in Lupin's chest.

Lupin rose, ponderously, but powerfully, and Draco fell back against his pillow, and refused to be cowed.

"Please," he asked again.

Lupin loomed over him, propped on one arm, and leaned down to whisper against his throat, "Severus," as his fingers ran up his shirt to tweak his nipples, pulling and teasing and twisting until Draco yelped, and finally running in cruelly tantalizing swirls down, down, down to his aching, dripping cock, finally wrapping around him, and Draco couldn't help the whimpered, "please," that escaped his lips. He heard Lupin growling in his ear but he smelled the smell of Severus' shampoo in his hair and then a strong, long-fingered hand was stroking him and he closed his eyes and allowed it to be Severus, here, with him, stroking him just like he used to, just like Draco always begged him to.

It didn't last long.

Draco had barely begun hissing in that way that Severus used to when he was close, when he came in a pathetic moan. And before he was even fully conscious again, Lupin had reached down and was tossing off desperately beside him, his face still buried in Draco's shoulder and drawing shallow, ragged breaths as he pulsed onto Draco's stomach.

Lupin fell to the bed heavily, kicked off the covers, and reached around for a wand before casting a weak cleaning charm and rolling over.

Draco lay awake and tried not to think.


	5. Your Shadow in the Darkness

I'm so sorry this took so long, I've been deliberating where to go with this fic. Also, college.

**Part Five:**

**Your Shadow in the Darkness**

So, that happened. Remus wasn't sure, really, but that cleaning charm had been pretty weak and he could smell it, just underneath the smell of morning, and sleep, and old wood and the tea he spilled on the rug the other day – under all of it he could smell the come.

Which probably had more to do with the time of month than anything else, but it was just one more reason to feel guilty.

* * *

Draco rolled out of bed early, as usual, quietly dressed, and made his way down to the kitchen. He put on the pot, stood outside in the cold air for a smoke, and then came back in to fix the eggs.

It was still chilly outside. And he was running out of cigarettes.

And last night Lupin and he had… yeah. So, there was that.

Hopefully Lupin would just let it go. He cursed himself for being so bloody weak. He'd practically begged, how disgusting is that? And Lupin obviously wasn't interested or he would have tried something on any of the many, many occasions that Draco had had too much to drink and slurred his way through a clumsy come-on.

Gods, he felt like such a child. And that was oddly comforting, really, because the last person who could really make him feel that woefully immature and inadequate was Severus, of course. And wasn't that just unfair?

But Lupin didn't seem to be taking it well. He trudged downstairs even later than usual, frowned 'hello,' barely touched his toast. He looked like he'd hardly slept the night before – dark circles around his eyes, and a tightness in the jaw.

"Draco-" he stated, just as Draco was about to step out onto the porch for a smoke. "Do you… is there somewhere you can stay?" Draco stiffened and then cursed himself for being so transparent because Lupin obviously noticed it and immediately added, "Just for a while—"

"It's your house," Draco answered, wishing he wasn't giving himself away by sounding so cold. He turned and walked out onto the porch rather than give Lupin a chance to elaborate.

* * *

Remus wanted to protest, but the boy was already through the door. He sat staring at his tea for another minute, and then finally he stood and decided to try again.

"Draco…" he ventured as he stepped out onto the porch. Draco didn't turn or even acknowledge that he'd heard him, though. "Look, Draco, it's not that I don't want you here," he said in his best concerned-professor voice. Draco stiffened. Remus sighed.

Draco tossed his cigarette and turned back into the kitchen and Remus followed, caught his arm, held him back.

"What?" the boy asked, sounding at once exasperated and a little frantic. "You want me out of your bed, and out of your house? Fine. Let me go!"

"No! No it's not that…. It's just…" Remus wavered. All this time the boy hadn't once mentioned it and he just couldn't bring himself to remind him who… _what_… he was living with. But… "the moon," he said quietly, and sank down at the kitchen table, defeated.

"That's why you…? Oh for Salazar's sake, Lupin!" the boy exclaimed, and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Severus' robes billowing behind him. Too confused to really respond, Remus just sat at the table. Mere minutes later, the boy was back carrying a steaming goblet which he placed unceremoniously on the table in front of Remus. The goopy liquid sloshed over the rim a little, and the pungent smell was almost overwhelming: wolfsbane.

"How…?" Remus started to ask, looking up to see Draco leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and rolling his eyes.

"You thought I was willing to live here with you without it? I started preparing the day after you moved in."

He spat the words, and Remus couldn't tell whether it was the usual disgust at his condition, or that notion that it hadn't occurred to him to ask Draco, Severus' potions protégé, for help with this.

"Thank you," he said, meeting the boy's eyes. Draco just shrugged.

"Self-preservation," he answered, but Remus was pretty sure that wasn't all. And he was surprised to find he was glad about that.

"And you're sure it'll…"

Draco sighed, and huffed, and walked out of the room. Probably not the best tactic, questioning his brewing skills. Remus picked up the goblet and gulped the gloppy, grainy liquid down, wincing and fighting a retch. At least it tasted about as disgusting as it's supposed to.

He set the goblet in the sink and followed Draco upstairs. He found him sitting on Severus' bed, their bed, a small bag of clothes on the floor beside him.

"You don't have to go," he whispered, sitting down beside the boy. Draco stiffened momentarily, but then seemed to relax, and leaned incrementally closer.

"I can't just stay here forever," he answered.

Remus thought that maybe he could, but he didn't say that. Instead, he offered, "it's not forever. Just for now."

After a pause, Draco nodded, and seemed to exhale. Remus dared to wrap an arm around the boy gently, and he relaxed into Remus' shoulder.

* * *

Lupin insisted that he lock and ward the basement for the night, and was still arguing until the last minute that Draco should go stay somewhere else. But honestly, where was he going to go? The manor was in Ministry hands, and it's not like he had many friends these days. Even if he had the money, he doubted anyone would rent him a room. And if they didn't, he'd probably find himself conveniently smothered by an errant pillow. Other than Potter (and he really hoped he wouldn't have to stoop that low) there was hardly anyone who would take him in.

So he warded the basement, and warded the stairs, and the door to the bedroom, and sat up, listening for signs of distress.

Which is pretty much all he heard from about dusk till somewhere close to midnight, when it changed to something more like the whine of a dog who wants to be untied. And then around 4am, as the sun was just rising, he heard woke to an ear-splitting wail. He waited until the faint grey of the morning light was pricking through the sheer curtains of the bedroom window.

Then, summoning his courage, and a spare blanket, he wrapped himself and padded down the stairs and down into the basement.

Lupin was lying on the ground, curled into a ball of misery, covered in little scrapes and with long, painful-looking bruises around his joints. His knees, hips, shoulders, even his elbows and wrists were shadowed in greyish blue. His body looked ashen where the bruising stopped, and if he hadn't been gasping faint, shallow breaths, Draco would have doubted he was even alive.

Without really thinking, Draco summoned a blanket, some flannels, and a bucket, which he filled with an aguamenti and heated. Lupin groaned just as Draco began to dip one of the flannels into the hot water, and winced when the cloth first came into contact with his battered flesh. Draco almost winced in sympathy. As someone constitutionally unsuited to physical injury himself, he had never much enjoyed the more sadistic gratification of seeing others in pain. And seeing Lupin this way was… devastating… really. He seemed suddenly so vulnerable, lying there, stiffening and whimpering in quiet agony as Draco dragged a hot cloth across his raw skin, his bruised joints, his torn, bleeding jaw. He wrung the cloth out in the water over and over, and it slowly turned from clear to pink to red.

Eventually Lupin groaned and turned over when prodded, lying on his back on the blanket Draco had wrapped around himself. Lupin's eyes were closed, sandy hair plastered to his pale forehead. Draco couldn't resist the impulse to brush it out of his eyes, assuring himself that he was just checking for further injury. He very deliberately did not look down at the trail of sandy-brown hair that led down to a pink and flaccid cock nestled in wiry hair. Instead his gently wiped away the blood and grime

When the last of the little cuts and scrapes had been cleaned, he vanished the bloody water and, with more prodding, helped Lupin to sit up and finally to stand up and limp slowly up to the bed and lie down.

He slept for the rest of the day.

* * *

Remus had barely managed to regain consciousness when he heard the door opening and soft footfalls on the landing above. For a panicked moment he forgot that he'd already transformed, but even the relief of that realization was quickly replaced by the alarmed realization that he was bruised, bloody, and entirely naked. The thought of someone, anyone, seeing him like this… he never let people see him after a transformation. Not since his parents.

The only exception was Severus, of course. When they had developed the wolfsbane together, and sometimes after that, when they were together over the full moon. But never a friend, or lover, or (gods forbid) a student. Although he wasn't quite sure where he would have put Draco, as far as those categories went. Still, he wanted to stop Draco, tell him to turn back, but everything ached and he was so cold, and maybe it wasn't so bad it the boy wanted to… surely not… But there was no mistaking the quiet charm that filled a hollow bucket with water, and Remus shivered and groaned when the hot flannel pressed against his sore skin, and suddenly he remembered the feel of Severus strong, sure hands delicately, meticulously, almost clinically cleaning out his wounds. Gods… did Draco know how much he was like Severus? How much his careful, clinical detachment, his wordless, thankless service, resembled Severus'?

The soft brush of skin against his, the smell of Draco's hair, and the nervous way he chewed his lip and studiously avoided looking at Remus' cock… these things were not Severus, these things, these little details, they were all Draco. Remus couldn't only thank the misery of his transformation for the fact that he did not grow hard under the boy's care. He managed, painfully, to stand, and let Draco lead him up to the bedroom, frequently leaning on him when he stumbled, or struggled, and surprised again and again at the strength hidden beneath Severus' overlarge robes.

* * *

Lupin slept most of that day, and the next two days afterward. He hardly spoke, ate sparsely, and generally seemed miserable. His wounds and bruises couldn't be healed by magic, but healed much more quickly than normal anyway, and by the third day, though still dazed and sore, he seemed on the mend. Draco alternated between overbearing worry and trying to stay out of his way. He couldn't tell what Lupin expected of him, or wanted, or needed, and he didn't want to ask, and it's not like Lupin would tell him anyway, so he just tried to anticipate things like needing food and water and whatnot and otherwise keep clear.

On the third day since the full moon, Draco waited until night to return to the bedroom, and was unsurprised to find Lupin still asleep. Or so he thought, because the moment he climbed into the bed on his side (and when had it become his side? Because it was, there was not doubt about that), Lupin stirred, and rolled onto his back, and stared open eyed at the ceiling.

"I want…" Lupin started, taking a breath, but then exhaling with a, "I want to thank you, for... staying…"

Draco stared into the darkness and whispered, "I want…" but he couldn't really say it, could he? Maybe.

"Draco?" Lupin asked, and there was enough depth and growl to it that Draco dared go on.

"I want you to…" he paused and moved closer, close enough to brush his lips against Lupin's ear. "I want you to take me like you used to take him," Draco whispered, and Lupin groaned, rolling over and sliding between Draco's legs.

His long fingers, so very much like Severus', probed and prepared him, his other hand stroking Draco's cock. And if Draco closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Severus above him, Severus' weight over him, Severus' terrifyingly hard length pressing into him, filling him.

He cried out as Lupin began moving inside of him – he was impossibly full and acutely, painfully aware of every slight movement, and then Severus' cock (it had to be Severus, because only Severus could ever have made him feel this way – he knew that) began pressing stroke for stroke against his prostate and the pleasure flared and built and then long, white fingers wrapped around his cock again and stroked him firmly and he cried out again and whimpered as Severus pounded into him mercilessly, pulling him, driving him, chasing him to an orgasm that burst out of him in thick ropes as he whispered, "_Severus_."

Moments later, Lupin stilled above him, and Draco felt himself filled with wet warmth. He winced at the sting and the strange, insecure emptiness left behind when Lupin pulled out, and again at the burn and tingle of a cleaning charm.

They lay side-by-side in the bed together, in the darkness. Presently, Lupin remarked, "You remind me of him, too."


End file.
